The Cromwell Series
by doddlebot
Summary: A series of short stories based around the friendship between Jack O'Neill and Frank Cromwell before and after that terrible event in Iraq
1. Default Chapter

"C'mon Cromie!" Jack shouted over his shoulder, his eyes constantly scanning the blustery airfield for any signs of his transport.  
  
"I absolutely *cannot* be late!"  
  
Frank Cromwell walked up behind Jack, rolling his eyes at the taller mans impatience.  
  
"Jack, just calm down, you'll be there in time."  
  
For the first time Jack turned to face his fellow soldier and best friend. Jacks eyes were wide, the nervous tension that kept him from standing still evident on his face.  
  
"Frank, I swear. If I'm late she'll kill me. And I am gonna be, I mean, even in a transport its going to be at least four hours till I get there. I can't wait that long!"  
  
Franks face split into a grin, he was so glad he'd been able to get Jack even this far. For a while it had seemed Jack would be stuck in some god forsaken country for the birth of his first child. But some string pulling on his behalf by a benevolent CO, and a few lucky breaks along the way, meant Jack would make it, by the skin of his teeth. but he'd make it to be with Sara.  
  
Especially if the last little part of Franks plan worked. Jack wouldn't be taking a transport home.  
  
Walking beside the agitated Captain, Cromwell placed a hand on his shoulder, barely able to contain his grin; all this would be worth it just to see O'Neill's reaction!  
  
"Major?" Jack turned to face him, eyes still wide, his mind obviously elsewhere.  
  
"What?"  
  
Watching an F16 roll up almost silently several hundred metres behind Jack, Frank couldn't help but grin. Turning the Captains shoulders he pointed him in the direction of his transport.  
  
"Captain, you horse awaits."  
  
For a moment Jack was speechless, the stunned expression he wore something Frank would treasure for a long while, rarely was O'Neill ever silent.  
  
The stunned silence was broken when the soldier leapt in the air, whooping at the top of his voice, a broad grin plastered across his face.  
  
"Well don't just stand there, Airman! Get to it! You've got a baby to deliver!"  
  
For a moment Jack turned to him, a panicked expression replacing the grin.  
  
"You don't think they're gonna make me deliver it do you? I mean I don't know anything, does the head come out first? Or the Feet? What if."  
  
Franks expression must have been something akin to horror, or shock, he thought later, the Captain had taken him seriously.  
  
Jack stopped talking for a moment, his expression resetting to the broad grin he'd worn before.  
  
Frank had been had. And he knew it.  
  
Jogging towards the aircraft, Jack tossed a "Thanks Cromie!" over his shoulder.  
  
About a hundred feet from the plane he stopped and turned, happier than Frank had ever seen him. Raising his hands in the air he called back to the other soldier, the evening sunlight glinting off the cockpit of the plane behind him, surrounding him in a halo of red-gold light. His expression elated.  
  
"I'm gonna be a Dad!" 


	2. Stargazing Tempting fate

"I hate sand."  
  
"Oh stop your moaning O'Neill."  
  
Lieutenant Colonel Cromwell glanced over at the lanky solider sprawled in the sand beside him, gazing up at clear night sky. Major Jonathan 'Jack' O'Neill raised a hand and scrubbed it through his brown hair, which was flecked with gold from many weeks in the desert.  
  
"But it gets everywhere!"  
  
Jack sighed again, his tanned boyish features folding into a frown.  
  
"Why do we always have to get posted in damned deserts anyway?"  
  
Frank Cromwell looked back out towards the dark horizon, hiding his bemused smile from his friend. This kind of one-sided conversation from the Major was not uncommon, in fact wherever they were O'Neill would moan, whine and grumble about the weather, the food, the accommodation and anything else he could find. Cromwell didn't mind though, in fact this little routine was a nice piece of normality in their otherwise highly irregular lives.  
  
Cromwell shifted his sitting so he could see the recumbent Major.  
  
"Well maybe if you didn't lie about in it so often, it mightn't bother you quite so much."  
  
O'Neill tossed is head dramatically. Rolling to onto his side, his long legs digging into the soft san beneath them. Humour evident in his face.  
  
"Oh I'm just a lowly Major, doing what I'm told." A quirk of the eyebrows. "Lieutenant Colonel."  
  
Cromwell felt his face redden at O'Neill's words. He still felt somewhat uncomfortable with it; he'd been promoted above Jack. His friend still found fun in pointing out Cromwell's new title, which had left O'Neill not only out ranked but under Cromwell's command. Something O'Neill accepted with good grace, considering the two had almost identical service records.  
  
Rolling onto his back once again, Jack smirked at the starlit sky.  
  
"Yup. That's me, a minion to those with power, my own needs unimportant, my sacrifices expected."  
  
The sentence ended with a dramatic sigh and Cromwell couldn't help but laugh at his friend's benign expression, O'Neill was anything but benign.  
  
Cromwell knew that in Jack, he was fighting alongside one of the best there was; you couldn't survive in Special Forces for very long if you weren't, but there was something unique about Jack O'Neill. There was more than a little truth behind Jacks flippant words, O'Neill was fighting for what he believed in; honour, freedom and choice. He was more than willing to give everything he had, including his life, so that other people could achieve the things so many took for granted. Few did this job with as much grace and humility as Jack did.  
  
"Yo Cromie! You leave the planet for a while there?"  
  
Frank jumped at the words spoken softly beside him, realising he'd been staring into space for the best part of ten minutes.  
  
"No Major, but if we want to still be on this planet this time tomorrow we should probably get some sleep."  
  
"Yessir." O'Neill saluted sloppily from the ground.  
  
"Don't forget a soldiers only as good as the amount of rest."  
  
"Yes, yes! I know! Jeez don't you ever change your spiel?"  
  
Cromwell rolled his eyes.  
  
"No more stargazing Major?"  
  
O'Neill took a moment to respond, his eyes still fixed on the sky above.  
  
" No more stargazing." His voice was more subdued than before. "I just wanted to say goodnight."  
  
Frank felt some of his good move evaporate. O'Neill had been missing his little boy so terribly since then had left the states all those months ago. But it would be over soon, just one last mission and then home for some leave. A little incursion, nothing they'd never done before.  
  
If Frank was a betting man he'd even go so far as to say they'd be home for the weekend.  
  
But that would be tempting fate. 


	3. Torture After Iraq

The room was too warm to be comfortable, especially as Frank was still wearing his jacket. Taking it off would make it seem like he was staying here longer than he was planning.  
  
He didn't want to be here, he didn't even *have* to be here. But he was.  
  
The hospital was bland, featureless walls seeming to pressing in from all sides. Cromwell knew he had to move now, he couldn't stand here all day, he just dreaded what he'd find on the other side.  
  
It had been four and a half months since that fateful day, when he'd left his best friend for dead in the blistering Iraqi desert. But he hadn't been dead, and Frank had left him there. in the hands of the remorseless enemy.  
  
For a moment a wave of guilt made bile rise in Cromwell's throat but he crushed it ruthlessly. The doctor had already warned him, he couldn't feel pity here, nor guilt that it had happened. the weight of these alone would crush him, he'd never leave.  
  
The doctor had given him quite a pep talk before he'd even gotten this far, listing the injuries and symptoms of the long term imprisonment and torture of Major Jack O'Neill, USAF.  
  
Beaten, whipped, electrocuted, starved of food and water, even basic stimuli for so long, had left Jack a shadow of the man he was before. The doctor had told him not to expect much. Jack had rarely been lucid enough to understand where he was, and spent most of his time lost in vicious nightmare that left him screaming and sobbing. Only very slowly was be beginning to accept being touched without screaming and shying away, despite the fact that he'd been in Ramstein for close to two weeks.  
  
When the doctor had told Frank this he'd kept his face purposefully blank, not allowing the doctor to see the way in turned his stomach knowing he's put his friend through this.  
  
Pulling himself back to the moment Frank stared at the door, knowing his friend was behind it, hurting. No time like the present.  
  
The room was dark, the curtains drawn haphazardly over the small window, leaving the room full of half shadows and dark corners.  
  
At first Frank couldn't see his friend, and for a moment he thought he might have the wrong room, until he heard it.  
  
"Nonononononononono"  
  
Barely above a whisper, and the voice cracked almost beyond recognition, Frank still knew that this was Jack. Moving round the bed he found him, curled in the corner, his front faced protectively towards the wall, the shoulder hunched, making such a tall man seem impossibly small. Even from here, in the gloom of the room Frank could see the hospital scrubs hung off a frame diminished to almost nothing. His hair had been cut viciously short; Cromwell could make out brutal red welts, burns on his friends scalp. Electrocution, just like the doctor had mentioned. Frank could also make out Jack rhythmically taping his fingers on his legs, thumb, first finger, second, third then fourth, then the other hand, before the pattern started once again. The doctor had explained this as well, prisoners, victims of torture have no control over the surroundings, so they find something they can control. This was Jacks.  
  
For a moment Frank took in the pitiful sight before him, trying not to acknowledge the guilt gnawing at his throat making it difficult to breath. Then he spoke.  
  
"Jack"  
  
For a moment the taping stopped and Jack's entire body tensed, ready to snap. Then with a wry shake of the head, an action so familiar it cut Frank to the bone, O'Neill resumed his taping.  
  
"Nononono not real"  
  
Frank moved closer to his friend. He had to make him understand that he hadn't meant it, that he'd tried everything he could to get him back, that he'd never been more sorry for anything in his life.  
  
"Jack? Its me. its Frank"  
  
At first Cromwell didn't think Jack had heard him, until he realised the man in front of him had begun to shake, and his mantra was getting louder.  
  
"Nonononononono"  
  
In an instant Jacks gaze became lucid; he understood who he was looking at.  
  
"NO!"  
  
With a hoarse scream Jack rose shakily to his feet, emaciated hands clutching onto the smooth wall in an attempt to steady himself. Frank could see the fear in his friend's eyes; pure terror written in his dark hooded eyes as Jack attempted to back further into the unyielding wall.  
  
Frank was at a loss as to what he should do. Jacks mantra degenerated into strangled sobs as his fear consumed him. Seeing him like this was tearing him apart, this wasn't his friend. this wasn't the man he used to stargaze with!  
  
Then something of the old soldier in Jack surfaced, and he began to fight his fear. Launching himself across the room on unsteady feet, Jack threw himself at Frank, screaming words unintelligible as sobs tore from his throat and shook his frail frame.  
  
Frank fought the urge to run, to hide, and to pretend this wasn't happening. Instead he placed his hands on Jacks shoulders, trying to calm and steady him at the same time.  
  
"Jack, listen. please."  
  
But his words fell on deaf ears, and his actions only seemed to provoke the distraught man further. But his swinging arms, once full of energy, barely made an impact on Frank's chest, the sinewy muscle wasted away to the bone.  
  
Somebody must have head the screams and come, because suddenly the room was full of white uniforms and shouted orders, but Frank could hear non of it. the only sound penetrating his haze was the screams and wretched cries of his friends as the orderlies pulled him away to the bed, strapping him down and sedating him.  
  
Frank watched with sickened detachment, as Jack understood what was happening, his eyes wide with fear, his screams turned to sobs and pleas, begging them to let him go, calling for Charlie and Sara, begging them not to sedate him as the drugs took hold.  
  
But Frank didn't see Jacks eyes close, he was already out of the room and moving on unsteady legs to the bathroom he'd seen on his way here. Moving on autopilot all he could see was the deep and desperate fear in his brave friends eyes.  
  
Throwing himself in the nearest cubicle he heaved until his stomach was dry and his eyes were tearing up. This couldn't be happening! That wasn't Jack! This couldn't be how it ended!  
  
Falling back against the cool wall Frank tried to fight the profound guilt that gnawed at his stomach.  
  
Guilt that he'd done this; put him here.  
  
But more overwhelmingly, a sickening guilt; because he was so profoundly grateful that it wasn't him in there. 


End file.
